Tracery
by Alga
Summary: This is a tale of dukes and witches, of knights and kings, and forest creatures, and, yes, of chivalry disdained. And love, of course. Which has prevailed.


**Tracery**

**Disclaimer:** everything and everyone you recognise belongs to those people who own _Gummi Bears_…or probably the muse of one and all clichés owns this particular thing, place or person. Everything and everyone else is mine.

**Prologue**

…A little red-headed girl no older than six was scurrying down one of the narrower streets of the great city of Dunwyn with a small package, like so many girls sent by their mothers to the nearest bakery or the grocer's shop just around the corner; but for some reason this particular child did not give an incredibly serious yet carefree and trusting impression of a proud mother's little helper, oh no… Instead, there was alarm written all over the girl's tiny face, she glanced over her shoulder every now and then as she ran. And it was perfectly clear from one look at her brow knitted so tightly, and the fists balled up that she tried her best not to be scared, but it was just as clear that it wasn't true – for _they_ terrified the girl indeed, the ones running after her, the monsters who cried...

- Witch!

- We gotcha now!

- Witch, witch's spawn!

- Witch!

They weren't a bunch of ogres or trolls, only children of good Christian subjects of their good Christian king that cheered like mad whenever he so much as rode or walked by… Gregor, was it? To her, there was nothing terrific in monarchy _or_ the church for that matter, thank you very much, for both of them adopted indifferent on-looker approach whenever the proper, God-abiding townsmen and peasants from local villages chose to brush rather painfully by the girl's mother in the market square, mumbling curses, or their just as proper and God-abiding children played a game of some very un-obscure origin that they affectionately called "Get the witch!" – a simple chase-the-girl-all-we-please-around-the-city-till-she-drops-dead innocent sort of game. And very often these children applied a great deal more than hurtful words if they managed to catch up with her before she reached home – the only place in the whole realm of Dunwyn where they won't dare to step in after the door closed behind her.

Everywhere else was _their _territory.

And we all know that trespassers are always punished when caught…

As for the church… The girl grimaced briefly whilst she slowed down. Her heart thumped painfully from the running, her lungs begged for a gulp of air... Oh, she knew perfectly well that dear old archbishop did not exactly advocate witch-hunts, but he found that low-profile public disapproval very unifying and most desired. Devil, she even heard him _preach_ on this a couple of times, when mum and she hid together in their secret corridor built inside cathedral walls, while dad had to listen to all that witch-crap there, from the pews.

…Listen and feel his family's eyes on him, and sense the righteous anger seething in himself, but never daring to escape, to say, scream out loud what he wished to so badly. The girl shook her head, remembering… The horde of chasers drew nearer, but she just couldn't run any more. No, she did not want to blame her father for it, and her mum didn't either; it was bad enough that he blamed himself, that the blame was eating him inside out, for this royal knight, brave and handsome, fit to be called Prince Charming, as they put it in ballads, was allowed to take any woman, even a magical one for a spouse, a wish granted to him like merit money along with knighthood because he happened to save king Gregor's life…twice… in a row…but was just as nicely, but firmly asked to stay out of the public way whenever his wife and now his little daughter were concerned, for _the voice of the people is surely the voice of God_, right? She kicked the ground, remembering that particular line from the archbishop's last sermon. Of course, and wasn't that wise and good man they call Jesus the Nazarene sentenced to a slow and painful death on the cross by the voice of people too?!

- Witch!

- Devil's helper!

Only one more block… but they were closer now than the door to her asylum. Trolls, ogres? No. But to her – honestly, will they ever learn?! – any forest creature seemed less dangerous, mummy thought so too of these boys' parents. Oh, if only mum would hear, and come out…

The boys will be squealing like scared pigs that they are at heart when they see her mother, the _real_, elder witch of the two, and will surely run off…

But she knew that it could not be, not today: mummy was ill and in bed, that's why she slipped out of the house in the first place to get her some medicine…

Even though mum absolutely forbade her to go outside alone… Even though the only apothecary that would sell to a witch was all the way across town… and her parents' bedroom – in the back of their house, so mum won't even hear when she cries for help. And the street simply _had _to be empty just then.

Oh, well; guess everybody's having lunch a bit early today… or the neighbours refused to be involved in the witch business, and turned a blind eye. The girl felt her lips curl into a bitter smile that made her look way older than she were – a scary expression for a little girl, but who was she to know that? Besides, there _did_ exist things of far more sinister nature than early mimic wrinkles, of that she was sure; things like their proper, good Christian neighbours all the way up and down the street… Didn't these people _always_ pretend that two-thirds of her family did not exist? Then why today should be any different, for their God's sake?!

…They forced her to halt and cling back-first to the door of a new empty house next to hers, cornered her when the door she craved to open was so close! The girl took a calming breath and looked around. If she just tries hard enough to concentrate, she'd be able to fend these bullies with a spell or two… Mummy showed her a couple for cases exactly like that one. Oh, mum… She clutched the small package closer, thrusting it deeper behind herself and prepared to fight. Sadly, the gang had at least one observant brat who noticed her move and pointed it to the others.

- Look, guys, can it be potion ingredients she's hiding behind her filthy back?

Alas, the package did stick out on the left side! Her little frame could not cover it whole no matter what… Why couldn't she be a bit older, and they a bit – slower in running _and _thinking?! Besides, talk about filthy; even in the state she was in, sweat, street dust and all, the girl most certainly merited better standards of cleanness than any of them, ever, but that was not going to change anything for her. Just then, at least, but later, who knows... if she survived to see that _later_…

Their curiosity picked (and lack of the _real _witch providing for additional valour), the boys stepped closer.

- What's this, witch?

- Yeah, show us!

The girl tried looking bristled.

- Nothing that's yours in here! Stay where you are!

They did, but only for a couple of seconds. Then the tallest one grinned and wagged his finger at her.

- Now, witch, your mummy isn't here to save you, so be polite. – He gave a wink at his cohorts. – Oh, and before I forget, hand over your potion stuff. If these roots and powders are harmless, you'll get them back. Give them to me, or I'll make you do so. You know I can. – Another wink at his friends. – _All_ of us can, witch…

She felt like a fox cub at bay. _Oh, mother, why…_ The girl shuddered, but stayed put with her shoulder blades and her package glued to the door that wasn't hers. The chief bully yawned.

- Very well, I asked nicely and you won't give in. – And then, quickly, eyebrows knitted. – Get her, boys!

Everything that took place after that she reserved as a very special memory in her heart to keep and relive for years and years to come; and something was telling her that those boys didn't forget anything as they grew up either. The only difference was that for her, it turned into the first encounter with a man to love and cherish, and for them it became the first nightmare sealed with his name, one of many that was going to make people jump and sweat in their sleep in the good capital city of the fair kingdom of Dunwyn.

… As the gang crowded in on her, and tore the package away no matter how hard she clawed and screamed, and as they started to toss her pack around like a ball while their beanpole of a leader held her firmly, the door opened without a creak, figures, it was new, and…

- What in the name of our sweet Lord Jesus is going on here?! Stop that noise right now!

Young mobsters froze.

There in the doorway stood a tallish and rather angry Goldilocks type of a lady with a small Bible in one hand and a string of beads ajoint with a tiny silver cross in the other; and two boys who looked to be about eight peeped into the street from behind her, one fair-haired and neatly groomed just like the woman and the other one with a pitch-black mop on his head that was a bit on the wild side and made you think about some woodland beast's fir first, and human coiffure second. They must have moved in while the girl was at the chemist's… Great, just great! One more church-going ma'm to hate her mother and _two _more boys to join the witch-beating club. And that's right next door!

Talk about rotten days…

The new lady continued to survey battlefield.

- …You are not yelling any more? Good. I repeat then, what was that commotion about?

Everyone kept silence, probably because they've never heard such a long word like "commotion" before, only the girl was breathing hard, and a sudden wave of draught ruffled her torn but thankfully, more or less whole package on the ground. The bully who was holding her in place revived first.

- Um, we wanted to teach this witch's daughter a lesson, ma'm.

It was the lady's turn to freeze up.

- A _witch's_ daughter, you've said?

- Yes, ma'm, she's living in here next to you in that house, a really mean witch, ma'm. And that – he shook up the girl by her little shoulders – is her kid. We caught the twerp bringing things for her mother to brew something, probably a poison.

At this, the woman defrosted a bit and took a nippy step back into the house, dragging two boys – her sons, eh? – along with her. She even _paled_ visibly. Oh, at least that thing mum calls bad reputation is good for something!

…The gang leader squeezed his pray tighter and was about to speak on, reassured by the woman and her fear, but…

- You're hurting her! Five of you against one little girl! I challenge you on behalf of this lady!

- Victor, come back! Victor Rudolf Igthorn, do you hear me?!

The newcomer with a Bible was near hysterics, but her fair-haired charge already jumped off the doorstep and into the thick of things, his eyes ablaze with anger so sparkly and noble it looked sickeningly genuine. Not to mention childish.

Suddenly an assortment of tiny but very much real lightning bolts burst from the girl's eyes, burning the bully that held her a little, but not enough to force him ease the clutch, and making her half-baked hero-to-be stop in his tracks as if revelation struck him.

- You… you _are _a witch's daughter!

- Victor, come back to mummy, sweetie! NOW!

No need to shout, lady; your little knight in shiny armour is heading back to you anyway, and covers a mile with each leap! The girl wished nothing more than to curse that mummy's boy, but...

- Sigmund! Don't you dare – …

Too late, he had already dared. And didn't even look back at the distraught mother he left behind so quickly or at the dagger-glaring girl in front of him. He just hopped from the doorstep, softly, and then sized up each of the gang boys with a practiced eye. And then, without a warning of any kind, charged at their leader's foot with one of his very own.

- Ouch!

The top bully cringed in pain, let the girl go and clutched his now throbbing toes, glaring at his gang through quite some tears.

- What're you waiting for? Attack him! Hit him!

That Sigmund guy side-glanced at the boy.

- Oh, really… – and quietly, with an underlying threat, to the rest. – Any volunteers?

They swallowed tensely and realized all of a sudden that he looked a bit older and taller than their top guy… and probably the best course of action would be not to fight, but possibly, maybe, to…

- Run!!! – Cried a kid with the most touchy nerves, and the others did just that. All of them, including their guy number one who was a bit on the limp side by now.

…They ran up the street, rising clouds of dust, ran from a dark-haired stranger who was thrusting out his chest – a rightful winner. That is, until he felt that somebody else, save and except his darling mother addressed him. Somebody fiery-haired, and not quite reaching his shoulder. That girl he saved.

- Um, Sigmund, right? Thanks, I guess…

She was looking up at him, eyes still a bit lightny, don't-you-dare-to-try-anything-ly. The boy felt an unintentional shiver brush up his spine and then over his shoulders. He knew this withering expression so well… _too _well! But etiquette required him to answer her.

- Oh, you're… welcome.

…She was still looking at him. Seconds stretched into minutes. His dearest mother was yelling something about witches and curses but wisely stayed inside with her golden boy, and people were staring out their windows at her by now – or did they act like audience of the whole fight-show? Either way, having small talk with the prickly-eyed girl was somehow harder than scaring away her offenders. Thankfully, she broke eye contact, and reached to pick up her package from the ground, gave it a once-over and turned to go.

- …I'll try to be. Just don't pretend you did it to help me out.

- What d'you mean? – He frowned. – 'Course I did it to help you, why else?

- Sigmund! I'm waiting!!!

- That's why. – The girl motioned at his seething mum. – Go kiss the Blarney stone in Eire, you're not very good at kissing up to a witch's daughter right now.

- Eh? Barley… what?

The girl rolled her eyes at him, briefly.

- It's _Blarney_, not _barley_, actually. See, that's a kind of stone that helps if…well, you kiss it if you want to make things look real enough so your goody-goody mother fumes.

The boy instantly saw red.

- Oh, you little ungrateful…

Probably he would've hurt the girl, but just then…

- Sigmund Rudolf Igthorn!!! One more second out there with that witch child and I'm telling your father!

Both children gritted their teeth, huffed, and then walked their separate ways. Two doors closed with a _bang_. It was hard for curious neighborhood to pin down the reason, though. Some said it was the boy's mother screeching for him to come in that drowned any and all sounds for the moment; others believed it was something that little witch told her savior; yet others were sure the whole mystery had nothing to do with a distraught mother or a witch girl, but had anything and everything to do with trivial, simple tooth ache children are bound to have if they eat too many sweet things, and what kind of child doesn't have a sweet tooth?..


End file.
